In many Nigerian homes, parents showed love by providing material needs, not always by being physically present. For some children, growing up meant learning independence early, forming bonds elsewhere, and sometimes, carrying quiet emotional gaps into adulthood. 

In this story, five Nigerians revisit childhood memories marked by their parents’ absence and how those experiences shaped their relationships, self-worth, and ideas about parenting.

“I’ve developed attachment issues” — Jumoke*, 24, F

Jumoke shares how her parents’ constant absence affected her childhood and how she hopes to do things differently with her kids.

“My parents worked as a nurse and an aircraft maintenance engineer, respectively. They both worked shifts , and apart from the occasional public holiday and weekend, they were mostly at work throughout my childhood. I struggled with their absence. Whenever I saw either of them leaving, I would cry and cry. 

My siblings and I spent most of our time with my grandfather and uncle. During the holidays, we stayed with other relatives. I believe that instability fuelled the attachment issues I now struggle with as an adult.

They did their best to show up on the days that mattered, and I appreciate that. But I missed them on regular nights spent without that gentle parental presence.  Over time, I started to feel unimportant and opening up became difficult.

Thankfully, our relationship has improved in recent years. They’ve apologised for their absence  and now make an effort to make up for lost time. Their house feels like a safe space for me again, and I love going home. I wish I’d experienced this when I was younger, but I now feel seen, heard and taken care of. 

I want kids of my own someday, and I want to make an effort to be present in their formative years, even if it requires making certain sacrifices. I don’t want to miss out on anything.”

“My dad was in the military, I hardly saw him” — Bisola*, 21, F

Bisiola shares how her dad’s absence led to unhealthy emotional habits as an adult.

“My mum was a stay-at-home parent while my dad served in the military. He was posted all over the country and barely spent time at home. 

As a child, I didn’t notice his absence. It felt more like I got more free playtime than missing out.

Still, it hurt that he never showed up on important days, not my open days or graduations. In fact, I don’t remember him ever stepping into my school. Even though I’ve spent years telling myself it was fine, I can see the effect of that absence now. 

I’ve grown avoidant and don’t know how to talk about things that bother me. I keep them bottled up.

I resented him for years, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to recognise that my parents did what they thought was best. I have a good relationship with my mum, but my dad is late, and I miss him terribly. ”

“My mum’s absence made me a sullen child” — David*, 24, M

David reflects on how his mum’s busy schedule and subsequent absence affected their bond.

“My mum worked in a bank, and I only saw her on weekends. Even then,  she was always too tired to interact with my siblings or me. I’m the last child, so I was especially attached to her. I used to cry so much because I didn’t understand why she was never around. 

At some point, I convinced myself she avoided us because of something I’d done wrong. That belief turned me into a sullen, moody child. 

She attended major events like graduations but missed birthdays and other smaller milestones. My dad, who ran a provision store, handled those. Even now, I struggle to express my emotions, and I think it’s because, deep down, I still feel unimportant. 

I’m close with my dad, but my relationship with my mum feels distant. She’s mostly away for work and only shares updates on the family group chat. 

She has no knowledge of everything that makes me who I am, not my favourite colour or the kind of films I like. I appreciate the life she has provided for us, but the cost isn’t worth it. We’ve lost the mother-to-child bond.

If I ever have kids, I’ll only do so when I know I can make room for them and truly know who they are.”

“I’m a closed book to my parents” — Aisha*, 22, F

Aisha longed for her parents’ attention growing up, but they were mostly away fending for the family. She shares how that absence has led to a strained relationship.

“My dad travelled frequently to the north, so I barely saw him; maybe eight or nine times a month at most. My mum wasn’t any better. She’s an actress and a broadcaster who was constantly away at movie locations or filming episodes for her show.

No one showed up for me for my PTA meetings or open days. No one helped with my homework. When they weren’t home, I felt like I had no safe space.

Once, in secondary school, I had a big cultural presentation at an end-of-year event. Neither of them attended because they were working. I felt invisible. Their absence was filled by aunts, uncles, and workers, but I didn’t feel cared for. There was no one I trusted enough to report the physical and emotional abuse I experienced. I became emotionally unstable: angry one moment, and withdrawn the next. My mum used to call me ‘choleric’ because of how angry I seemed.

I wish I could talk to her about it now, but I can’t; we don’t have that bond. We just co-exist whenever I’m with her.

As for my dad, he was drunk most of the time. As an adult, I can empathise with him, but as a kid who just needed her dad, I loathe him. Even now, our conversations barely stretch up to two minutes because there’s nothing to say. 

My mum travels less these days and has tried to mend our relationship, but I still carry a lot of anger.”

“I feel like I don’t need anyone” – Tunji*, 26, M

Tunji shares how his parents’ absence has led him to develop a hyperindependent personality.

“Both my parents are doctors, so they were almost always away at work. When they were around,  they were exhausted or irritable. I quickly got used to spending most of my time with neighbours, friends, domestic staff, and myself. I got used to navigating everything alone: homework, birthdays, even illnesses. By the time I got to senior secondary school, I barely told them about school activities because I knew they couldn’t attend.

At the time, I thought I was just naturally independent. Now, I see that I struggle to rely on people or ask for help, even when I really need it. I feel safer doing things by myself.

I know they love me, but I wish they made an effort to be more present in my life. No one really asked how I was doing as long as I kept my grades up. No one noticed when I wasn’t okay because they weren’t there to see. As an adult, I find it hard to be vulnerable with anyone, especially my parents. We talk, but only about surface things.”

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